


Quill

by Bannerific (Nellethiel)



Series: Of Science and Soldiers - 100 One-Shots [6]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blossoming Romance, Child Abuse, Hugs, M/M, Misappropriation of book titles, Nostalgia, One Shot, Past Abuse, Science Boyfriends, Science Bros, Unpacking Boxes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:44:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1208218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellethiel/pseuds/Bannerific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce needs help dealing with the physical remnants of his past. Tony's just the man for the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rosetta (Melime)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melime/gifts).
  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [Pena](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2323550) by [Rosetta (Melime)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melime/pseuds/Rosetta)



It took him almost a week, but Bruce finally worked up the courage to ask his friend for help. It was a Tuesday. He was getting antsy. It had taken him days to attain this small amount of progress. Enough was enough. So around two in the afternoon, he made up his mind to find Tony and ask him to help sort through the boxes.

The week before, Bruce had borrowed Steve's new truck and disappeared for about an hour, returning with the bed packed with cardboard boxes. He'd carried them into the building one at a time, loaded them into the back elevator, and taken them straight to his room. It had taken him ages, but he'd refused any help. Those who knew him well were too kind to press the issue, and those who didn't were too afraid.

And then he'd shut himself in his room for six days straight. He emerged for dinner every night, said little, ate fast, then rushed back to his room, locking the door behind him.

And then Tony came back from Japan. He hadn't been home five minutes before three people he barely knew had asked him what was up with the good doctor, and if they should be worried. An hour and the entire team had informed him of Bruce's behavior. And that afternoon, Pepper had barged into his bedroom with a serious set to her mouth and her eyebrows knitted with concern.

"Talk to him," she'd half-begged, half-commanded.

"You're perfectly good at talking, Pepper," Tony had reminded her, flinging his suitcase on the bed and flopping down next to it, closing his eyes and picturing the martini that waited for the warm and luxurious embrace of his stomach.

"Not like you are, Tony," she had said, a bit more softly, sitting down beside him. "He trusts you."

"He trusts you," Tony had pointed out. But in the end, Pepper had convinced him that he was best suited for delving into What's Eating Bruce Banner, and sent him on his way down the hall, still in his suit and tie, and sadly lacking the beverage he craved.

So it turned out that Bruce didn't have to look too hard for his partner in science-related not-quite-crime. In fact, he walked out of his room, locked the door carefully, strode down the hall and around the corner, and came literally nose-to-nose with the person he sought.

"Going somewhere?" Tony asked, straightening his tie.

"To find you, if you're not too busy," Bruce answered, adjusting his glasses.

If there was one thing they had in common, it was their fidgety tendencies.

"Not at all, Doc," Tony said, throwing an arm around Bruce's shoulder and guiding him back toward his bedroom. "I was just on my way to see you."

Bruce wasn't surprised; Tony had been striking all sorts of business deals while he'd been away, and he probably wanted to get to work on the new products as soon as possible.

"As a matter of fact," Tony continued, stopping at Bruce's locked door, "I was given strict orders to come and talk to you before I do anything else. But why don't you go first?"

Bruce wasn't sure how to begin, so instead he unlocked the door and led Tony inside. He sort of figured the half-full boxes strewn about the room would speak for themselves.

"What are-" Tony began, slowly following Bruce into the room and taking in the chaos before him. "That's it, no more Storage Wars for you."

Bruce laughed. Already the knot in his stomach was beginning to loosen. In fact, it had started to relax the moment he found himself in Tony's presence.

"Actually, this is all my old stuff," Bruce explained, taking a box filled with books off the room's only chair, gesturing for Tony to take a seat. "I had a couple of friends stash it all way, after... after my accident." His eyes went distant for a moment, then he shook his head and looked back to Tony, eyes clear once more. "I've been trying to go through all of these, get the junk sorted out, but it's just... overwhelming. I mean, it should be simple; throw some stuff away, keep the rest. But I guess I have a hard time throwing any of it away," Bruce said, nudging a box of dishes with his foot. "I pull something out of a box, look at it, think about it for a minute, then shove it back in the box and pick up a different one."

"And you want my help, 's that it?" Tony couldn't remember the last time Bruce had said so much at one time that didn't have to do with science.

"Well... yeah," Bruce said, scratching the back of his head. "I mean, if you want to. I just... a lot of this stuff is just junk, and I wouldn't mind if it got thrown away, I just... I can't make myself do it. And I know you're not exactly the most organized guy, but any system you come up with has got to be better than this." He gestured vaguely to the pile.

Tony leaned forward, elbows on his knees, stroking idly at his goatee. He seemed to be studying the room, absorbing and analyzing every inch. There was something about that expression that always made Bruce's breath catch. He felt as though, if he let Tony turn that look on him, it would turn him inside-out in the best way. And to make matters worse, he was still in that magnificently tailored suit.

After a moment's consideration, Tony hopped up and clapped his hands together, eyes sparkling.

"Alright, here's what we're going to do," he announced. "We're gonna make three piles: keep, donate, and trash." As he spoke, he pulled books out of a box and stacked them, then picked up a marker and scrawled "DONATE" across the side of the box. "I'll grab a trash bag and throw the obvious stuff in it, and you can split the rest, and whenever you get distracted by something shiny I'll throw a book at you." He grinned cheekily, then gently pushed Bruce backward to sit in the clear spot on the bed before dropping a box on his lap. As the inventor waltzed out of the room to find some garbage bags, Bruce could still feel the heat of Tony's hands on his arms. He shivered, staring absently down into the box in his hands.

It wasn't long before Tony returned, tie and jacket gone and bags in hand, and they put their noses to the grindstone. Tony was careful to check whenever he was unsure about garbage items, and Bruce's stomach finally unknotted completely. He began to genuinely enjoy the peaceful time with his closest friend, away from the whir and hum of instruments and the frustration of experimentation. True to his word, Tony occasionally lobbed a book in Bruce's direction when he decided that the doctor had taken too long to decide on an item. Bruce noticed gratefully that they were mostly paperbacks. They had been working quietly for an hour or so when Tony held up an item and asked, "Hey buddy, garbage or what?"

Bruce stood up and took the item from Tony, unsure what to say for a moment. It was an exquisite feather quill, fluffy and white and slightly bent at one end, and memories came flooding back to Bruce so quickly he thought he might need an ark.

"Oh, this..." he began, then had to stop and clear his throat. "This is, um... I didn't know I still had one." He slowly turned around, putting his back to Tony as he tried to will away the tears that threatened to spill over. "I got a whole set of these as a kid," he began, running his shaking fingers slowly down the length of the feather. "Saved up for weeks, to write to my pen-pal in England." He sighed, rubbing at his eyes with one hand.

Behind him, Tony's eyebrows furrowed. Bruce hadn't talked about his childhood before, at least not seriously. A couple sympathetic mentions of having an asshole for a father, but nothing more.

"But one night when my dad was angry at me over something, he grabbed them all and threw them in the fireplace," Bruce explained, then laughed drily. "You know, I can't even remember what he was mad about now." And then he jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder. He turned and didn't have a chance to register anything before Tony had pulled him into a rather crushing embrace. He was too startled to say anything, or to stop the tears that Tony seemed to be squeezing out of him. Instead, Bruce just put his hands on Tony's sides and tried to savour the feeling of his arms thrown around Bruce's shoulders, his beard scratching at Bruce's neck.

Eventually, they pulled apart, Tony tugging at his collar and Bruce wiping his eyes. Tony returned to his chair, pulling another box toward him and tearing the packing tape off of it. Bruce sat back down on the bed, spinning the quill in his hands for a moment before moving to set it on the nightstand. Then he stopped.

He looked at Tony, then back at the quill, then chucked it into the trash bag between them. Tony raised an eyebrow at him, clearly asking without words, "Are you sure?"

And Bruce was. The quill had meant something to him once, but now it was a memory tied to pain. And throwing the quill away was like throwing away that pain. He still had the letters to remember his friend by, and he was ready, and determined, to start replacing old memories with new.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my friend Noog (TheDailyNeopets.com) for choosing the prompt.
> 
> I was somewhat inspired for this story by my own life. In January, I got married and moved to another state. I'm still unpacking 98234752 boxes!


End file.
